Page 21 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HANNAH

“ G oddamit,” I mutter, banging my hands on the keyboard.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the rooftop terrace, my laptop on my knees and a Twizzler dangling from my mouth, I level a glare at my computer screen.

At the ten disjointed sentences I’ve managed to cobble together.

Scanning the words, I just barely resist the urge to stick my tongue out at the computer like a petulant toddler having a tantrum.

These are very, very bad words, and Brett’s voice is very, very loud.

Ridiculous hobby.

Won’t ever amount to anything.

Write something people will actually read.

I grit my teeth and try not to scream.

“That is not a happy face.”

I spin around at the sound of Noah’s voice, the Twizzler hanging from my mouth unceremoniously slapping my cheek.

Shoving the rest of it in my mouth, I take him in while I chew.

He’s leaning against the door to the roof dressed in athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and those damn flip-flops.

His brown hair is messy, as usual, and he has a lazy grin on his face, his blue eyes sparkling in the low light of dusk.

His legs are crossed at the ankles, his whole vibe giving lazy summer casual, and it’s really working for him.

Despite my general hatred of life in this current moment, it’s working for me, too.

It’s been a week since we got back from Vegas.

A week where I’ve mostly tried to avoid all things Noah Wyles.

The rest of our trip was, to put it lightly, weird as fuck.

Noah stuck to me like glue, called me his wife whenever he thought he could get away with it, and was generally his goofy, funny, cheerful self.

I was…the opposite of that. I spent two days vacillating between wanting to kill him and wanting to kiss him.

Wanting to never speak to him ever again and wanting to throw myself at him and never let go.

Weirdly, the one upside to Vegas is that between waking up accidentally married to Noah and my flight home with Jo, Jordan, Elliot, and Amelia, I managed to write almost an entire chapter I didn’t hate. One I almost, just a little bit, even liked.

I also spent that time keeping the secret of our accidental marriage from everyone we know. And even though keeping things from people I love is my default, for some reason, keeping this secret dialed my stress hives up to an eleven.

So, the second we got back from Vegas, I hid myself away in my apartment and talked to no one.

I ignored texts from my sisters and Amelia and the book club chat and pretended Noah Wyles didn’t exist. Except for the morning iced latte and muffin deliveries he dropped at my door on his way to work.

And the three knocks on his ceiling that I always answered with two knocks of my own because it would be rude not to.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I tried, and failed, to write any more words, and steadfastly ignored Brett’s incessant texting too.

At my lowest moments, I scrolled back through his messages and reread every single awful thing he’s said to me in the last couple of months.

I relived the terrifying moment that finally broke us, and I survived on Twizzlers, Sprite, and peanut butter straight from the jar.

I did not thrive this week.

And the kicker? In all the time I’ve spent alone, I didn’t do the thing I promised myself I would do when I woke up in Vegas and found myself accidentally married to the hot, cheerful, strangely intuitive guy who makes my stomach swoop and my soul quiet.

I didn’t do any research on annulments. I didn’t call a lawyer to get the process going.

Every time I started to do exactly that, my brain would serve me up a memory of the way Noah looks at me when I speak.

The way his eyes light up and his lips tip up in a smile.

The way he listens to me—really listens like he’s interested in what I have to say.

I don’t think anyone has ever really been that interested in what I have to say. Brett definitely wasn’t. But Noah is. So, when I remember that I forget the words accidental marriage and annulment even exist, and I don’t really know what to do about that.

Sitting here on the roof with my laptop on my knees and barely any words on the screen, I can admit to myself that I came up here tonight instead of trying to write in my apartment because I was hoping he would find me.

Because I think it’s possible that the only time I’m able to write anything at all is after I spend time with him.

Because after a week, I missed his face.

The way he makes me laugh. I just missed him, and I’m self-aware enough to admit that.

Mostly.

I shut my laptop and set it down on the ground. “I’m trying to write, but I can’t. All my words are bad.”

Noah pushes off the wall, striding over and sitting down next to me. “I bet they’re not. Can I read them?”

He reaches for my laptop, and I slap his hand away. “Definitely not. They’re actually terrible.”

“I really doubt it, but even if they are, you’re sitting here with your laptop, even when it’s hard. You’re doing the thing.”

My stomach twists because what I am doing is the exact opposite of the thing . “I’m really not. I’ve been sitting here for hours, and all I managed was, like, ten awful sentences. Tomorrow I probably won’t be able to write any words at all.”

Noah shrugs, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Today is today, and today, you wrote words. You’re trying. Proud of you, Gorgeous.”

For reasons passing understanding, his words sink in, drowning out Brett’s voice and my roaring self-doubt. “I’m sorry I ignored you for a week.”

Noah gives me a soft smile and takes both of my hands in his. “Vegas was a lot for you.”

I nod. “It was.”

“Even without the whole drunk marriage, it would have been.”

I give him a wry smile. “I’m not exactly the most social human alive. A weekend keeping up with the whirlwind that is my younger sister, and I need to sleep for a year.”

Noah squeezes my hands. “I know. Throw in some drunk karaoke and an accidental marriage, and you needed a minute to get your bearings.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”

He lets go of one of my hands and pushes my hair behind my ear, resting his hand on my cheek.

“I understand you, Han. I think I have for a long time. You don’t have to thank me for that.

And you don’t have to apologize to me for being yourself.

I don’t want you to be anyone except for exactly who you are. ”

My heart stutters in my chest at his words. Noah’s eyes are dark and serious, and he’s looking at me like he can see straight to the heart of me. I’m starting to believe he can do exactly that.

“So, what are you doing up here?” I ask casually, trying to get my feelings locked down before I spill them all over him.

“Would it freak you out to know that I’ve come up here every day, multiple times a day, since we got back from Vegas, hoping I would run into you? ”

“You were literally at my door every morning dropping off coffee and muffins. You didn’t want to just knock?”

He shrugs. “You weren’t answering my texts, and like I said, I figured you needed some time alone. But that didn’t stop me from coming up here hoping to see your face. I really missed your face.”

“I missed you too,” I mumble. Feeling the truth of the words, even though they come out before I can stop them. The grin that splits his face has my heart knocking against my ribs.

“I knew it!” he exclaims. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

I roll my eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

“Gorgeous, I always dream of you. Now, you said something about writing words. That means we need to celebrate.”

I tug my hands away from him and spin so I’m facing the view, trying to get some distance I don’t really want but I think I need. “We don’t need to celebrate writing terrible words. I was thinking about ordering a consolation pizza.”

“No.” Noah turns so we’re sitting side-by-side, both of us looking out over the city. “We can order pizza any night. That’s not a celebration.”

I eye him. “I said consolation, not celebration. And I don’t think I mentioned anything about a we.”

“You’re trying, and that’s something to celebrate. And I think the we is always implied. First of all, I promised to help you write again, and look, you’re writing again.” He waves a hand at my closed laptop.

“Barely,” I mutter.

Noah smiles. “I’m an optimistic sort of guy.”

I blow out a breath. “Good, because I am definitely not an optimistic sort of girl. Not about this.”

He leans into me, the side of his body pressing against mine, sending a buzz of electricity through my veins. “Then I’ll be optimistic for both of us.”

“What’s second of all?” I ask quickly, a little bit afraid of how much I’m feeling for him right now .

“Second of all, what?”

“You said the we is implied and gave me a first of all . So, what’s second of all?”

“Oh, because you’re my wife, obviously.”

Noah flashes that grin at me again, and I drop my head back and groan. “We’re getting it annulled.”

“Okay, but before we do that, we have places to be.”

Noah stands, holding out a hand for me. I just look at it. “Where do we have to be?”

He reaches down and grabs my laptop and my half empty bag of Twizzlers. “Surprise. Come on, Han. You’ve been hiding long enough. You’re here and I’m here, and that has to mean something. Spend a summer night with me.”

He reaches out his hand again, and without any reason not to, I take it and let him pull me up off the roof.